Realisations and Retaliations
by Redderhead
Summary: John faces the deathly precipice. Only one man on his mind. His heart on the line. Sherlock Reunion Fic: JOHNLOCK. No smut, just pure adorable fluffiness! Don't read if you do not appreciate the Johnlockedness!


_As usual my lovely readers; I do not claim to own anyone or anything; this is purely fun for me and hopefully fun for you to read. Please enjoy and I love all reviews!_

Realisations and Retaliations

John looked over the precipice that lay before him. The rain was heavy and cold upon his unprotected head. The unchanged military-like black coat hung loose from his slightly malnourished frame, dark blue eyes were dull and as cold as ice whilst tears fled from them to mix with the rain. John was whispering frantically;

"Please, please, one more miracle for me Sherlock, for me, Sherlock" he repeated himself under his breath, staring dizzily around at his surroundings.

The sky was black with rain cloud, there was no wind but harsh rainfall made up for the lack of it; the ground below was empty and inviting as he stood on the very edge of St. Bartholomew's Hospital roof. Exactly the same spot where his best friend, his colleague; his life-changing flatmate had stood three years ago to the day.

John had started the three year slog in a state of shock; moving out of 221B and leaving the city for a few months to live with his parents. He had moved back because he missed London's busy bustling streets and consequently the reminders of Sherlock Holmes.

John had thought Sherlock was just a friend at the time of their adventures, but he had come to learn recently that they were so much more. All of the denial about them being a couple was just a cover; subconsciously, John adored Sherlock. Had to keep him safe, had to protect that magnificent brain no matter how much of an arse he would sometimes be. Sherlock never denied the rumours, never interjected with a 'No that's not the case' as John had done. The doctor now knew why.

The day after they had met, Sherlock took him to a restaurant on Northumberland Street. It was a very nice restaurant, Spanish, Romantic. John had asked Sherlock if he was attached, realising early on in the conversation that Sherlock 'batted for the other team' so to speak, when he talked of attraction.

Sherlock was _looking_ for a partner.

Sherlock _wanted _John.

And let's face it, if the World's Only Consulting Detective accuses you of flirting with him, you probably are.

His therapist had been leading him through hypnosis therapy, replaying some of the cases they had been on together; John longed for his sessions – but it tore him apart every time that she woke him from his trance. She had argued that it wasn't good for his mental health to continue this but he begged her for it, he had become weak for it. As a consequence, his trances would sometimes spread out-with the sessions; he would see scenes from the past played out in front of him as he drank his morning cup of tea, he would jump occasionally to see Sherlock walk across the living room and fall onto the couch with a sigh of boredom. John would talk to the memory of Sherlock, would reach out for him only to realise that it was just a shadow.

A further tear fell from John's left eye as he peered past his shoes at the drop that faced him. He couldn't believe he had been reduced to this weak mess of a man. To realise what he had when it's too late had killed him inside. He was a shell, nothing more. But this would stop it, this would stop the pain, the sadness, the fear; all he had to do was just take a final step, one small baby step on thin air.

"Why don't you do it?" Said Sherlock beside him, rolling a cigarette calmly, looking over the edge with apparent boredom.

John clamped his eyes closed.

"You're not real." John murmured, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"You think I am not real because you have seen me before?" Sherlock asked dully.

"Since my first hypnosis, I see you everywhere, you know this, you ask me every time." John said weakly, still not opening his eyes.

"I think you should go home, John. Get some rest." Sherlock mused, lighting his cigarette in cupped hands.

"No!" John shouted. "I c-can't stay here, I need to-to go to him-you. I c-can't live w-without him" John stammered, a fresh bout of tears reddening his cold face.

Sherlock's face arranged into a bemused expression.

"Of course you can, it's not like you do not have a heart and set of healthy lungs" Sherlock scoffed around his cigarette.

The shorter of the two looks to his feet in desolation; "He _was_ my heart" the words are whispered, almost lost in the pitter patter of heavy rain hitting the cement jungle around them.

John almost faints. Whether it's the lack of food for the past three days or the two strong arms that wrapped around his torso he would never know. John freezes at the contact but allows himself to be tugged gently backward. He stands for a moment, before his legs give out and the figure behind him is forced to take the soldier's dead weight. John smells cigarette smoke and sulphur; his brain playing tricks on him again. The sobs are body-racking and they consume John. The taller figure leans the doctor against his frame as he throws the dying cigarette away, across the roof to land in a nearby puddle. Next, John is being turned around, his head being laid into a soft, wet nook, rain falling upon his upturned face, washing away the tears.

John's rescuer wrapped long slender arms around the doctor as he continued to wail with sadness.

"John, it's ok, I'm here" Sherlock muttered into ex-soldier's ear. "I'm real". Sherlock was slightly alarmed to hear John's sobs take a drastic volume increase.

"John, John, _John_" Sherlock called, unable to do anything other than hold the doctor close.

Better to get the shouting, the hysteria and the hopelessness out now, high above the commonwealth and finish it in the same location it all started in Sherlock reasoned, allowing John to cry against his neck.

Eventually, the rain seemed to lessen, leaving the two men drenched through, their hair flat and their faces pale. John was responding now, his arms tightly wrapped around Sherlock's waist under that long wool coat.

Sherlock's cheek was pressed to John's wet hair, noting the slight tremors passing through his cold friend.

"Y-you didn't…die?" John asked hoarsely.

Sherlock tightened his grip around the doctor as a flash of guilt passed through his stomach.

"No, I'm here" Sherlock said in his lowest baritone.

John tried to stand, tried to look up at the man he had longed for, for three long years, alas his legs would not obey.

"Sher-Sherlock, I can't st-stand" John stuttered, embarrassed.

"It's ok, I can carry you" Sherlock said, lifting his head from John's hair to stoop down and wrap an arm around the shorter man's knee-backs and shoulder blades, easily scooping the broken man up. John looked so vulnerable, his eyes wide as they stared up at the consulting detective's face in awe. Sherlock looked down at his armfuls of ex-army doctor; his cold and unbreakable protective shell was instantly penetrated and a soft look of caring made its way toward John.

"Go to sleep, John" Sherlock said with a warm smile "I'll still be here" he said as he felt the hands of the other man clench into his extremely heavy and sodden woollen coat.

John looked panic stricken for all of two minutes before leaning into Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck and closing his eyes.

Sherlock smiled before turning on a heel and easily walking through the open roof access door, down the staircases and out into the street. Hailing a cab proved difficult, but eventually he caught one, the driver helping Sherlock to sit John in the back before he, himself, sat beside him.

221B was empty upon their arrival; Sherlock climbed the stairs carefully, only just showing slight signs of effort as he carried John into the living room.

Once the doctor was lying upon the couch, Sherlock set about stripping him of his cold and wet clothes, efficiently enveloping him in dry pyjamas and warm duvet. John shivered in his sleep and Sherlock worried it was too late to stop the chill, he fetched an extra blanket. Once the detective was satisfied John was comfortable, he entered his old room to address his own soaking attire.

Upon opening the dusty bedroom door, Sherlock had frozen to the spot. On one side of the pristinely made bed; a set of black trousers were laid across the duvet, a familiar purple shirt was laid above it, slightly mounting the pillow with the black blazer entwined with its' arms.

Sherlock deduced in a single look that John had been sleeping in here. There were several boxes accumulated in the far corner by the window, everything else was still in its original location. Often dusted, never touched.

Something tugged hard in Sherlock's chest as he walked around his bedroom. His breathing became restricted as he saw photographs of them taped to the wall above the headboard that he had certainly not put there. Running a hand over them delicately he sat on the bed recounting the memories behind each one. There was one of them smiling lightly outside of the cross-keys inn in Dartmoor, the day they were leaving – John had asked for a copy of it when Henry had asked for them to pose for it. There was one from the Christmas party; John's hand upon Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's wrapped casually around the doctors' back – in the back ground was a sprig of mistletoe – Sherlock smirked, if only he had known that was there. It was a second or two after that, that Sherlock berated his own thoughts; what would he have done if he _had _known that mistletoe was there?

Sherlock stood up sharply from the bed, shaking his thoughts off before dressing in his old pyjamas.

It was night when John awoke. The living room was eerily quiet and dark, only the fire's glow illuminated the space. He listened to it gently crackling and hissing from the fireplace before he opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep on the couch again. He felt different this time though; a warm duvet was wrapped around him and his pyjamas felt softer, more comforting than usual.

It was a little while before he spotted the dark haired detective sitting in his own armchair; his husky-like eyes piercing through the darkness as he stared at the doctor from behind steepled fingers.

John sat up.

"I'm going for a shower" the soldier said, nodding curtly before standing and walking briskly towards the bathroom.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as his eyes did not move from the couch; he knew the next step was anger. He just had to sit it out.

Sure enough, the shower was a place of contemplation and led to an enraged John, once more wrapped in the foreign pyjama set after vaguely noting the embroidered hedgehogs that were dotted across the material and being puzzled before remembering why he was angry once more.

The bathroom door swung open with a bang. Sherlock stood in the kitchen, pouring the kettle's freshly boiled water into the teapot they only used for guests. He remained calm throughout the storm of rage that flooded the atmosphere, only looking at John when he wasn't buttering the scones and spreading ample strawberry jam neatly atop the butter.

"You were alive for three, _three _sodding years and you didn't…you didn't _think_ that I would want to know!" John shouted across the small space between them, repeating the words Sherlock had used. He picked up a newspaper and threw it angrily at the kitchen cupboards.

Sherlock paused his actions upon the snacks to watch the paper pages flutter through the air.

"John, I _had _to. Are we going to have to go through it again?" Sherlock asked dully.

"Sherlock, I almost _killed _myself" John cried out looking desperately at Sherlock.

"Yes, why _did_ you want to kill yourself?" Sherlock asked, steering the conversation away from covered ground.

"I…I…" John opened and closed his mouth in confusion.

"You told me that it was because you couldn't live without me" Sherlock said gently.

John looked at the ground, a fluster of pink adorning his face. Sherlock thought it was rather endearing.

"It's true, ok? I've been doing Hypnotherapy and through that, I've realised some things." John said, talking to the hedgehogs on his pyjamas.

Sherlock sighed heavily. "As usual, you saw but did not _observe_ didn't you?" the taller man accused as he placed the rather large plate of scones on the table in front of them. Wordlessly they sat down.

"What do you mean?" John asked, subconsciously reaching for a scone.

"I mean that you knew Mycroft was paying for this accommodation, but you did not _observe _that the bills were still addressed to me. I mean that my will was never read out, and yet you did not _observe _that the reason was because I was still alive." Sherlock huffed.

"That's not what I meant." John said through a mouthful of scone, making Sherlock reach for one too.

"What did you mean?" Sherlock said whilst furiously attacking the scone half and reaching for another.

"I meant" John reached for another scone "Damn these are good".

Sidetracked.

Sherlock smiled, his mission obviously accomplished.

"Strawberry Jam from Switzerland, like the pyjamas" Sherlock said sheepishly.

John stopped mid-chew to gawp at Sherlock.

"That…this…Sherlock" John indicated between them with his arms exaggerating their movement. "Is what I meant" he said frantically. "We are _more _than friends Sherlock, I think we are _meant to be_, we are supposed to spend our lives together" he said continuing chewing aimlessly and as though an afterthought he looked at Sherlock quizzically; "Why hedgehogs?"

"Obviously" Sherlock mused. "You are a hedgehog, John, sharp and dangerous on the outside with a fondness for jam and a heart of gold" Sherlock said picking at the jam on his current scone.

It took a moment for John to reply to that one and when he did he consequently forgot about the hedgehogs.

"You agree with me?" John queried.

"What difference would it make if I didn't? Would you leave?" Sherlock asked.

"I would if you asked me to" John said weakly, reaching for another scone but fast loosing his appetite in fear of being asked to leave in the middle of the night.

"I would never ask such a thing" Sherlock said as he picked up another scone.

The pair smiled slightly and looked down at the plate they were sharing from.

"We ate them all?" John asked in surprise.

"The evidence points to that doesn't it?" Sherlock mused. "Chinese?" he asked.

John threw his head back in a loud and merry laugh; the sound bringing life to 221B Baker Street once more.

Two hours later saw the two men rather full and lying rather haphazardly on the couch under the abandoned duvet.

John reached across the short distance between them and sought Sherlock's hand.

"Thank you for saving my life back then, and today" he said seriously, before adding; "and the jam, and the pyjamas" with a smile.

"Do you like them?" Sherlock asked nodding towards the pyjamas.

"Yes, they are very…_me_" John said with a smile. "I'm just trying to decide whether you would be a black panther or a black cat to my hedgehog" John mused thoughtfully.

Sherlock scoffed. "Obviously a black panther; big enough to protect my hedgehog and tough enough to deal with your harsh exterior." He said with a wide smile.

John replied with a winning smile as he inched closer to the consulting detective and bravely leaned on his shoulder. Sherlock answered with a hand around his bloggers' shoulders, keeping John close as they watched the news on TV.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Sherlock asked, purposefully avoiding John's eyes.

"Mind what?" John asked sleepily, adding a yawn to the end of his question.

"Spending your life with me?" Sherlock queried, suddenly interested in the arm of the couch.

"If anything, I would have thought you would be worried about not able to handle the emotional capabilities of a relationship, not that _I_ would mind spending the rest of my life with the best person I have ever known." John said incredulously.

"I do not fear that, I have already come to terms with the fact that I am deeply attached to you, John. But, it may have escaped your notice, I am male, history has proven that you are attracted generally to females." Sherlock mused, his eyebrows raised.

"That doesn't matter. It's what's in here that counts." John said tapping his heart. Sherlock smiled coyly "I'll be terribly possessive" he said warningly.

"The more the better" John retorted.

"I'll expect you to work, sleep and live with me" the consulting detective said calmly.

"I'd expect that anyway" John said equally as calm.

"And no more trips away, I do not like it when you don't reply to my questions." Sherlock mused, his brow now furrowed.

"Well, I'd like to take trips away but you have to come with me" John bargained.

Sherlock nodded curtly, as if satisfaction had been achieved.

"So we're on then?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock turned his head to John's then, still resting upon his shoulder, he leaned down gently and placed a chaste kiss to the older mans' lips. "We're on" his whispered against them.

~ The End ~


End file.
